


I've Got Your Back

by eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar, PlayingChello



Series: Roleplays with Harley [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bittersweet, Dancing, M/M, Some angst, spoilers for chapters 9-10/11 ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9335846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar/pseuds/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingChello/pseuds/PlayingChello
Summary: On the train, tensions are high. Everyone is hurting in their own ways. Noctis and Ignis try to take a little respite from their troubles.Spoilers for Chapter 9-10/11 ish.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My dear friend [Harley](http://www.twitter.com/scientiasins) and I are at it again with the roleplays. But this time, with some eggnogs. We love these nerds almost as much as they love each other. Harley wrote Noct and I Ignis.

Altissia is… In ruins. Lunafreya, beautiful and brave Lunafreya, is dead.

She disappeared with Noctis’ resolve in a flurry of Tenebraean flowers, in a flurry of ghostly and suffocating memories, scents. The only thing that remains now, the only thing that remains of her, was the Ring of Lucii. This ring, this Six-damned key, was what they needed. And now that Noctis has it, he can’t bring himself to put it on. 

Gladio hates him for it. Noctis hates himself for it, too, so he supposes it’s all _fucking_ evened out. 

He can look at Prompto. He can stare Gladio in the eyes and match his rage. But he cannot, and he will not, look at Ignis. Not with what he’s done to him, not with the way he’s damned Ignis to a lifetime of darkness. Noctis feels like he’s being suffocated again, but this time there’s a lack of flowers and blue pollen in his throat; this time, the Ring of Lucii is firmly lodged in his windpipe, preventing him from saying he’s _so sorry_ , weighing his tongue down and damning Ignis to both silence _and_ darkness. 

He knows he’s not being fair. He knows everyone else is struggling. He just can’t tell them that. 

The only thing they agree upon is that it might be a good idea to sleep, to get some rest, before fetching another Royal Arm. They need a break from each other. They need alone time, especially after the words exchanged on the train. 

Noctis takes a room with Ignis. It’s comforting. It’s normal. It reminds him of… Before. Before he fucked up, before he did this, before the teacup shattered and the pieces of all of them splintered, shattered, and scattered in the wind. He doesn’t want either of them to sit in silence, so before they shut doors for the night, he asks Prompto for their radio. Prompto nods, says it’s a good idea, and hands it over. He says Gladio might not be in a music kind of mood, anyway.

The Ring of Lucii is heavy in Noctis’ pocket. He takes it out, and he puts it in his bag, away from himself. He might throw it somewhere he’d never find it if he had to keep carrying it. 

Looking over, he watches Ignis. He’s struggling, it’s true, but he’s making good progress. Just a little slow, and that’s alright. He can’t be mad about something he could’ve prevented. 

“I can set the shower up for you, if you want. ‘M too tired for one.”

\--

There were Magitek soldiers, clashing of daggers against spears and swords, white hot pain.

And then darkness.

The last thing Ignis saw was Ardyn Izunia headed in the direction of Noctis. His prince. His charge. His _King_. The last thing he saw was their enemy headed in the direction of the one person he was sworn to protect.

And then there was nothing.

Though, nothing isn’t the right word. There are sounds, smells, tastes, and touches. But no light. No colour. No sight. Only darkness and _pain_.

He’s grown achingly familiar with the feeling of the carved wood of the cane he was given. The cane that helps him move. But it’s slow going. He doesn’t know how to be blind. He had initially hoped that his eyesight would return in time, but as the wounds healed and nothing improved, he has lost hope for that. Even though he hasn’t told his companions such yet. They can keep hope, no reason to dash that quite yet.

Ignis has pretty much figured out the layout of the train by now. He knows the smells and the sounds. He can hear the other passengers chattering. But he has no idea what it _looks_ like. He doesn’t know what colour the seats are or what the landscape outside the window is. It’s dreadfully boring. And annoying. The chattering is too much and not enough at the same time.

But he doesn’t ask for help. In fact, he outright refuses it more often than not. Prompto tries, and he doesn’t exactly shrug him off. But he tries to do things on his own. He doesn’t want to be a burden. He wants to be the retainer and protector to the prince that he promised to be. And he will be. It will just take some adjusting.

It’s been a long day. With Gladiolus on edge, yelling at Noctis, Prompto with this reserved and nervous air, most unlike himself. And Noctis. Noctis is distant, far away. Ignis can feel him near, hear him every now and then, his lack of eyesight doesn’t change that. But he’s far away. Mentally. With far too much on his mind and he’s lashing out because of it. Irritable at Gladio, standoffish to the rest.

Which is why when they finally settle in for the night, Ignis is surprised by the offer of the shower. He looks toward the prince’s voice, wishes for the millionth time that he could only _see_ those dark blue eyes and know how to ease his burden, his pain. “I can manage, Highness. You should get rest.”

He taps his cane along the floor and manages to find the door to the tiny bathroom after only bumping into one thing. Progress. Sort of. Not the kind he’d like, not fast enough, not good enough. But progress.

\--

Rest. As if he could sleep with a heart full of regret and a mind full of doubt. 

Noctis toes off his boots at the side of his bed, and flops down on his back. He tries not to watch Ignis, but it’s in vain, because his eyes follow him until his advisor disappears into the bathroom. He stares up at the ceiling, hands behind his head, tracing the cracks in the drywall. This… Is foreign. The silence of the room. It’s devoid of fun, it’s devoid of happiness. There would be no cards tonight. There’d be no King’s Knight. Just this. 

Sitting up, Noct goes for the small radio he left by his bag, flicking the switch and keeping the volume low. It’s station after station of static - which figures, in a place like this - but one or two are playing something, even if crackly and hard to make out. It’s white noise. It’s distracting. The radio is put on the nightstand, and he lays back down, trying not to think.

But all he can do is think. 

Think about Luna. Think about Ignis, about Gladio, about Prompto. Think about what he could’ve done differently. It’s all pointless thought, he knows, but even still, they’re not thoughts he can stop, or filter out. They just keep coming, endlessly, one after the other. 

The idea of food crosses his mind. He hasn’t eaten in awhile. But the thought of food makes him sick. 

He wants to say something, so badly. Noctis wants to say he’s sorry, he wants to tell Ignis he never meant for-- Never meant for _this_ , and that he could never, ever repay him for that sacrifice. But the only thing that usually comes out is “Mm,” or some other kind of bored hum. The Ring of Lucii is in his throat. He can’t cough it up, and he can’t swallow it. It’s the burden he’s doomed to bear. The burden - because this is _not_ a fucking honor - that lies with him, that lies within. 

He stares at the bathroom wall. Ignis is in there. Not but a few feet, and it still feels like miles. It’s felt like miles for days.

\--

It takes an embarrassing amount of time feeling around the cheap tile walls to find the shower fixtures and quite a bit more to figure out how it actually works. When he finally gets water running, he nearly yelps at the temperature. It’s too cold and it’s another few minutes before he gets it to a more suitable warmth.

As the water runs over him, he’s trapped in his head. Because he can’t really focus on anything else. There’s only the sound and feeling of water hitting his skin, no pattern in the tile to trace with his eyes because he /can’t see it/. His palm hits painfully hard against the tile in frustration. As soon as the moment comes on though, he pulls back. It is unbecoming of him to show his frustration with his situation. He must remain composed, not show any weakness.

Ignis inhales deeply, then lets it out slowly as he stands up straight and scrubs himself clean. It takes a few shakes of his head, but eventually he manages to get his thoughts away from their dark turn. He steps out, toweling himself off briefly, before tousling his hair. No use attempting to do it before bed. Not that he would be much use at it anyway without his sight. He may have to ask Noctis to do it.

Noctis.

With the water off, Ignis can hear the soft sound of gravely music. Noctis must have gotten the radio from Prompto. The sound of it is somewhat soothing for the retainer. It’s something to focus on and keep him from thinking too hard.

Donned in a pair of sleep pants and a tank top, Ignis leaves the bathroom, cane in hand to help guide him. At least the room is small, so he doesn’t have much to navigate. “You’re still awake.”

\--

The water seems to run for years. And with each passing month, Noctis can feel himself get more and more antsy. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to leave Ignis by himself. Maybe it’s just because he wants to be in his presence. Maybe it’s just because being alone, even if only due to the separation of a wall, is too much.

Either way. When it stops, Noctis is pulled out from his daydreams, and his eyes follow Ignis as he exits. “Yeah,” Noct nods, “For once, I can’t sleep.”

The radio’s soft music stops, but begins again, a new song playing. This one… He knows. It’s familiar. It’s something old, something sappy, and something Noctis normally wouldn’t pay mind to; but this time, it’s welcome. The soft melody and kind words are warming, at least a little bit. It reminds him of before. It reminds him of long rides through the desert, with Prompto looking back at himself and Gladio with a smile. It reminds him of Ignis’ eyes on him through the rear view. It reminds him of Ignis.

And it reminds him of an old memory he didn’t realize he had stored away. Noct’s room is silent, save for something playing over the speakers, and he’s dancing. Ignis’ voice is in his ear, laughing lightly and humming. They were practicing his dancing.

Dancing. They did that, sometimes, in the middle of the night when the others were in the tent, sound asleep. Or in motels like this. They danced to nothing. They danced to their favorites. But it’s been a very long time, and they haven’t in awhile. Not since… Well. 

Noctis sits up, looking over to Ignis once again. “Hey, uh,” he doesn’t know where to begin. He doesn’t know how to ask. He doesn’t know if this will make things worse or make it better. But he’s gotta try something. “Ignis. ...You gonna be up for a little while?” That wasn’t the question he meant to ask. But it’s a start.

\--

It’s his fault he can’t sleep. Among other things, he’s sure. But Ignis knows his condition is keeping his prince awake at night. The boy hasn’t gotten much sleep recently. Ignis may not be able to see, but he knows. Even though Noctis doesn’t say anything, he knows. He has half a mind to ask if the nightmares are back. Nightmares of his youth, of his injury at the hands of the snake demoness.

But he doesn’t sleep poorly, he simply doesn’t sleep. His breathing never evens out properly and Ignis can practically feel his thousand yard stare. Every night. Looking at nothing, or boring into himself. He can’t see, but he knows. Noctis is painfully transparent to him.

Noctis’ voice makes him jump slightly. He hadn’t been expecting the sound of his voice after the song change. But he recovers quickly and hopes Noctis doesn’t notice the moment of weakness. He cocks his head to indicate he’s listening as Noctis continues. The young prince’s voice hesitates before launching into his question.

“I imagine so. I… find sleep difficult to come by.” He would have expected sleep to come more easily, but the darkness is just oppressive. It has messed up his sleep schedule and made it difficult to adjust his circadian rhythm. “Why?” The word is out of his mouth before he can stop it. But he realises that maybe Noct wants some privacy or wants to try to sleep. “I can go for a walk if you would like to be alone.”

\--

So we’re all not sleeping, huh. Great. 

Noctis shakes his head, before realizing he’s got to verbalize his answer. “No, that’s… That’s not it,” he begins, trying to find the words to form the question. Weeks ago, it would’ve been easy. Weeks ago, it was easy. “I just wanted to know if you, uh…”

For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t able to just spit it out. He supposes it’s because they’ve been distant, lately, without even the slightest glimmer of love, affection, or consideration. It’s all been going through strategy, through plans, arguing and getting nowhere besides to the next Royal Arm. The questions and things he used to be able to say seem inappropriate, now. 

Noctis swallows the ring. He swallows the guilt. He buries it deep, and he turns up the radio.

“You wanna dance, Ignis?”

\--

Ignis blinks.

Or he would, if he could. Instead, he just feels his eyelids strain as the remaining muscles attempt the reaction. Dance? It’s not that he’s opposed to the idea. In fact, quite the opposite. It reminds him of evenings long passed in which they did just that. It reminds him of teaching his young charge how to dance.

But he can’t- Or rather, he doesn’t know if he can. He can’t see. He won’t be able to keep himself from stepping on Noctis’ feet or from stumbling. And it feels… inappropriate. Like a privilege he lost some time ago. When he failed to protect Noctis and lost his eyesight. When everything went wrong in Altissia.

“I’m afraid I won’t be much of a partner, Your Highness.” He turns his head away, trying to hide the scar on the left side of his face, hide his shame. His hand comes up to push at the sunglasses over his eyes out of nervous reflex. “I wouldn’t want to step on you.”

\--

“Okay, first off,” Noctis says quietly, moving to his feet, “We’re super long past that whole ‘highness’ thing. Second, I know how to lead,” he approaches slowly, standing in front of Ignis with both hands out. “Ten and two,” he says, trying to help his advisor find his hands. “Third, you let me step all over you when you taught me, so now you can pay me back.”

Noctis needs this, and he knows Ignis needs it, too. It’s been too long since they were close. Since things felt at all normal. “Besides. They always play this sappy stuff at night.” And it’s been ages. That last bit doesn’t slip out, but it’s there, in the back of his mind.

\--

Noctis dismissing Ignis’ formality is like a slap in the face. He always lets slip a highness now and then, but recently had taken to almost exclusively referring to him casually. As Noct or Noctis. Because despite their formal relationship, they’re also friends. Close. More than simply retainer and prince.

At least they were.

The prince steps up near Ignis and he can feel the heat from his body. When he offers up positions for his hands, Ignis attempts to match them without thinking. It takes a bit of grasping at air, but Noctis is quick to help them join hands. Just this simple touch, their hands joined together, sends waves of something through Ignis. He isn’t quite sure what exactly it is that he feels, but it both tenses and relaxes him.

“I would hope you know how to lead. I taught you as much.” Ignis feels the corners of his lips turn ever so slightly, remembering the long lessons and the bruises on his feet from his clumsy prince. But he never minded. Not once.

The comment about the sappy nature of the music their soundtrack happens to be sets Ignis a bit on edge though. He doesn’t know if it’s alright for him to acknowledge that. To let himself be intimate. To let himself drop his guard and remember a simpler time. A time when the Empire was a more distant threat and he was more worried about getting Noct to wake in the morning for breakfast than gathering the blessings of the gods.

\--

Ignis’ hands aren’t exactly smooth, but they’re warm, and they’re familiar. Noctis leads him forward slowly, stopping in the middle of the room, and pressing up close to the elder man. The bump together a bit, but Noct hardly minds, and guides one of Ignis’ hands down to his waist. He keeps the other in his own hand, and rests his free one on his advisor’s shoulder. “We can keep it simple. Doesn’t need to be party-worthy or anything.”

Noctis hardly wants to admit he misses this kind of gentle closeness. But he really does, and he didn’t know how much until they got the way they are now. He starts their sway gently, not really moving at all, just holding. Listening to the music fill the room without focusing on anything else except Ignis. His scent, the feel of his hands, the even sounds of his breathing. Taking it all in, it feels like… Feels like they’re home. Feels like nothing’s different. 

“...I never did apologize for that, did I? Stepping all over you,” Noct mutters, “Surprised I never broke any bones. I kinda sucked at dancing.” To be truthful, he’s still not exactly the best; Good enough to make for a nice partner, but a bit out of practice, these days.

\--

Noctis feels solid pressed up close to him. Ignis can almost see the soft look in his blue eyes and the messy tousle of his dark hair. Almost. Instead, he has to imagine them while Noctis’ hands guide his own and his movements guide his feet. The words of his charge hardly make it through his brain, so Ignis simply hums in reply. He lets Noctis lead their sway while he focuses on the feel of him. On his smell and sounds. But mostly the feel.

His hands are soft, yet still calloused from many years of working with a weapon in hand. But soft, as expected from one of royal descent. His chest is smooth and solid against Ignis’ own. And his scent. That’s never changed. It’s the absolute most familiar thing about any of this. Ignis can’t see, but he can still smell that same spicy scent.

“No apologies are necessary, Highness. It was my pleasure.” And that’s the truth. He never once begrudged Noctis’ poor skills because it was always a pleasure to be teaching him. To hold him and lead his steps and show him how to properly dance. Even if he never got _particularly_ good at it. He did improve quite a bit.

And that is evident in the slow way he leads Ignis in their gentle sway. He’s in time with the music, gentle and not forceful. “Besides, you’ve learned well. Noct.” He adds the last bit almost as an afterthought, still feeling a bit odd at the familiarity. He knows Noctis told him that he’s still free to use the nickname, but they still feel a bit too distant for it.

\--

Noct.

Finally, Ignis calls him Noct, and it feels good. It feels refreshing. It’s been awhile, and hearing his advisor _actually_ use the nickname surprises him, but it’s pleasant. It brings an air of normalcy, it brings comfort and warmth, no matter how little. It makes it feel like they’re still on the road, like Altissia isn’t all but at the bottom of the sea. 

Noctis doesn’t say anything, instead carefully leading into something more movement-oriented. It’s odd, a bit, seeing their roles reversed and being the teacher; But it’s not at all uncomfortable. It’s… Kinda fun, in a way, or at least it would be if the reasons behind weren’t so damn sinister. It would be fun if they were a little tipsy and couldn’t keep in time, and it would be fun if the ground were uneven and they couldn’t hold footing. It can’t be called ‘fun’ when Ignis is struggling because he can’t see.

But it is a privilege. _This_ is his honor; Ignis trusting him with this. This is… Home. Right here, listening to a shitty radio station in a dingy motel next to train tracks. Noctis wants to speak, wants to tell Ignis about everything and about nothing, but there aren’t words. Not yet. Just radio static.

\--

It’s quiet.

Well, quiet in the way that neither of them speak. But everything else is near cacophonous. The sound of the radio playing softly, with static now and then. Ignis and Noctis breathing seems louder than ever before. The creaking of the floor as their feet move. Some sort of bug buzzing somewhere in the room. The sounds are what Ignis can focus on, since he can’t see his prince. The sounds and the taste of the air and that _smell_.

Gods, had he really forgotten just how good Noctis smells? Between the fighting and the injury and the tense train ride, had he really lost sight of that intoxication? And his hands. Noctis’ hands are so familiar, so comfortable. Ignis tightens his grip slightly, squeezing as if Noctis will let go, as if he will lose him if he lets go.

“Noct…” He doesn’t know what to say. But he feels like he needs to say something. So he simply lets his voice trail off as he bows his head and bumps his nose against the top of Noctis’ head.

\--

Noctis nuzzles up into Ignis’ touch, and stops. 

Just for a moment, he lets Ignis go, and slowly moves his hands up to the dark glasses covering his eyes. “Don’t freak out,” he whispers, “I just… Wanna look at you.” He’s careful about slowly sliding them off, holding them in his hands and just staring. Not too long, because he doesn’t want to make his advisor uncomfortable, but just long enough. 

“Now we both have badass scars, huh?” 

It’s a joke made with absolutely no humor. But it’s something, it’s something and that’s all Noctis really wanted. Something. Underhand, the prince carefully tosses Ignis’ glasses onto his bed, and moves to return their position. “They’re in the middle of your bed. It’s okay.” 

Noctis looks up at Ignis while they return to dancing, and tries to liven it just a bit; Take it from something formal to something fun, like it used to be. He keeps Ignis’ hands in his own, pulling each one forward and back again in a little shuffle. “You gonna spin me?” Noct asks, “Y’know, all ballet-like and stuff.”

\--

The nuzzle is welcome, but when Noctis releases him he feels suddenly cold. The world seems that much darker without warm hands in his. But when Noctis speaks, he relaxes slightly. Only slightly, because the thought of having his glasses removes feels… odd. But if it is what his prince desires, he would never deny him.

The hands are gentle in removing the glasses. They don’t really make a lot of difference to Ignis, just removes a slight tinge of extra darkness from his senses. But his face feels naked without them. Vulnerable.

But if Noctis is the only one in the room, he doesn’t mind too much. He trusts him. And he knows Noctis would never do anything to harm him.

Though, the comment is a bit… uncouth. It doesn’t particularly lift the mood or anything. But it’s something.

Then his hands are back in Noct’s and there’s reassurance that he’ll find his glasses later. And everything is ok again. Just for a minute. Just for a minute nothing matters because he’s here with Noctis. He follows his lead, letting Noctis pull him in and stepping back. At Noct’s suggestion, Ignis lets himself grin slightly. “I can certainly try.” The next time they go to step back, Ignis lifts his arm, leading Noctis into a twirl. Or at least, he hopes he is. He can’t exactly see the results.

\--

Noctis smiles.

He really, actually smiles since the first time this whole mess went down. He spins under Ignis’ arm, and he laughs quietly under his breath, and all seems to be… Forgotten. Like it never even happened in the first place. And Noctis thanks the gods, all six of them, that for once he doesn’t have to face the cold reality of real life. He doesn’t have to think about tomorrow. He doesn’t have to think about yesterday. He just has to think about his footing. 

Noctis reconnects with Ignis, pressing up against him again. This… Was dearly missed. “Okay, we’re gonna struggle a little to make this work, but your turn,” he says, standing on his toes and lifting his arm. It was silly, they couldn’t be any more like kids, but it was the best they had. “Just-- Duck. A lot.”

\--

When Noctis crashes into his chest once more, Ignis almost laughs. Instead, it comes out more like a huff, but it’s not frustrated or upset for once. It feels good.

And then Noctis spins him.

He has to move slow, and he ducks as much as he can. He nearly makes it all the way around before he stumbles and hits the back of his legs against one of the beds, causing him to fall backwards onto the mattress. The sudden shift in gravity causes him to impulsively pull Noctis along with him. He tries to backpedal, “Apologies, I seem to have stumbled.”

\--

A swear escapes Noctis as he’s pulled down along with Ignis, but he laughs all the same, landing smack on the other’s chest. It’s not… A bad ending to a dance. Not at all. So there Noct remains, content, even in the slightly awkward position. “Yeah, well, looks like you’re stuck now.”

Ignis smells nice, he notes, because he hadn’t really paid too much attention before. Like fresh spices, like… A kitchen on a cold day, almost. Now, Noct shifts, moving to make himself more comfortable on Ignis’ chest. 

It hits.

Ignis wouldn’t… Retain that scent, he thinks. Because he can’t cook anymore, he can’t do that. He can’t drive, he can’t cook, he can’t do _anything_ that makes him happy. It’s the thought of this that brings reality back hard, and makes Noct’s throat tighten like someone’s got their hand around it. 

“I’m so sorry, Ignis,” it finally comes out, and it’s all his willpower to make sure it isn’t choked-up. “Ignis, I-- I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t mean to-- For you to-- For it all,” For my cowardice. Because Gladio was right, I just don’t want to say it. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, I just wanted you to know.”

\--

At first, the position he’s forced them into is not particularly comfortable. But after Noctis shifts, Ignis feels like he could stay like that for some time. The prince wrapped around him, sitting in his lap. It’s like a fantasy from long ago. Comfortable and warm. And for a moment, Ignis doesn’t even mind that he can’t see. Because he can _feel_. And it’s so much more acute.

And then Noctis starts apologising. And it’s heartbreaking. He can hear the cracking in his voice and he can practically smell the barely held back tears. So he gently slides his hands up Noct’s sides, fumbling a bit, before settling his hands on the prince’s cheeks, holding his face. “Noct. I don’t blame you for anything. I did my job and I still am. Protecting you is all I’ve wanted to do in my life. If that cost me my sight and a nasty scar, so be it. As long as you are alright.”

He pauses. He lets silence fill the space between them for a moment, shattered by all the minute sounds Ignis never used to notice and the crackling of the radio. Then, he speaks once more. “There is nothing to forgive.”

\--

“I just need you to say it,” Noctis says, swallowing thickly. The lump in his throat reminds him of the ring, and it’s an even harsher reminder of the truth. Of what’s come to pass, right through the prince’s fingers. “I just need you to tell me you forgive me, Ignis.” I need you to tell me you know that I’m sorry. I need you to tell me you know I’m trying my damnedest because no one else seems to think so.

Ignis’ hands are so comforting on his cheeks. It reminds him of when he was little, bawling to his advisor about another nightmare. It reminds him of the way he would whisper that there was nothing to be afraid of, not while he’s under Ignis’ protection, and it reminds him that he’s safe. It reminds him that he’s safe. At least for now. 

Noctis, without thinking, kisses the inside of Ignis’ palm and sucks in an unsteady breath. He _hates_ crying, he hates how it feels and how it makes him look, and he tries to hold it in. So far, so good. “I robbed you.”

\--

Ignis nearly breaks hearing Noctis speak like that. Hearing him beg for forgiveness for some imagined fault of his. He wants to hold him and tell him everything is going to be alright. But is it really? The Oracle is dead, the world is growing darker, and they have no idea if any of them will survive to see peace restored. But Ignis wants to tell him that anyway. Because he seems to need to hear it.

Noctis turns his face and Ignis can feel his lips press into his palm, ungloved having just gotten out of the shower. The gesture is surprising, but not unwelcome. Ignis pets his hands over Noctis’ face, trying to soothe and comfort him. “Noct…” he starts. He doesn’t really want to say he forgives him, because then it feels like he’s admitting Noctis is to blame. But he isn’t.

But it is what his prince requires of him.

“I forgive you, even though there is nothing to forgive. You haven’t robbed me, the Empire did that. I was only doing my duty, which I would happily do again if given the choice.” He hopes the words are what Noctis wants to hear. He really doesn’t blame the boy, he did nothing wrong. In fact he did everything right. Things just went… poorly. Not quite as planned.

“You’ve done well, and I know you will continue to do so.”

\--

Noctis lets out a shuddering breath, and tries desperately to calm himself down. Ignis’ words are an incredible help; Forgiveness seeps into his skin, entangles itself around his joints and puts him, somewhat, at ease. Noctis doesn’t thank Ignis, because he fears the sound of his voice in his current state. He only nods, leaning even farther into his advisor’s touch.

He’s sure that one or two tears escape him, but Noct tries not to pay mind; He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of Ignis. Not now. Perhaps some time ago, when he didn’t know better and didn’t need to know better, he might have, but not now. 

And then Ignis tells him he’s done well, and it all goes right to Hell.

Noctis shivers, a sob stuck in his throat and eyes squeezed shut. The tears start gradually, the breaths come in harshly through his nose, and he chokes trying to stop. “I’m _trying so fuckin’ hard_.”

\--

Something about the way Noctis breathes sends a jolt through Ignis’ body. His thumbs move gently to wipe away the dampness that escapes Noct’s eyes. He is loathe to think that he is the reason for the tears. The prince shouldn’t bother worrying about him. He has much more important things to focus on.

But then he starts crying. Really actually crying. And it shatters the pieces left of Ignis’ heart. He immediately wraps his arms around Noctis, putting a hand on the back of his head and pulling him to his chest. He hugs him close, holding him and trying to quell the sadness, the pain, in his prince’s heart.

“Shhh, I know. We all do. And we’re here to help you.” He doesn’t even really know what he’s saying, he only hopes it helps. “I’ve got your back.”

\--

Noctis goes mostly limp, allowing Ignis pull him down. One arm is tucked between himself and his advisor, and the other rests so that his hand is against Ignis’ neck. Feeling him, his warmth, his pulse. Feeling his vitality, the proof that he’s at least still standing. 

I’ve got your back.

Noct tries not to choke when he speaks. “Always,” it’s quiet, but it doesn’t waver. That word, that phrase, has never once wavered. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/playingchello).


End file.
